"Where would have been the use when you were not able to think clearly, and when you were so weak that the mere telling might have made all the difference? But I really must go. Mrs. Worthington, you mean to stay and take dinner with us, don't you?" "Oh yes; I have come for all day," said Mrs. Worthington, producing her tatting from her pocket. "I will sit here and take care of Rhoda a while." After Mrs. Lambert had left the room, Rhoda lay for some time silently watching the motions of Mrs. Worthington's fingers. Then she sighed deeply. "What are you thinking of, dear?" asked Mrs. Worthington. "I was thinking about your little girls, and about myself," answered Rhoda, sighing again. "I was wondering why I didn't die when I was so sick." "Shall I tell you what I think was the reason, Rhoda?" "If you please." "I think it was because your work in this world is not finished," said Mrs. Worthington. Rhoda raised herself on her pillow and looked interested. "I don't exactly know what you mean," said she. "Tell me, please." "I think, my dear, that our heavenly Father has placed us here and given to each his or her allotted task, and that he keeps us here till we have finished it. Or to change the figure, this life is a kind of school-room in which we have each our lessons to learn. Some are hard, some are easy, but we must stay in the school-room till we have learned them as well as we are able. Then he lets us go home. My dear girls finished theirs very early. Mine, you see, takes longer, and yours are not done yet, though you have, as I may say, seen the door opened. You have your education to complete, and so you must stay." Rhoda sighed again. The word "education" had sad associations for her. "I thought I was going away to school when I came here," said she. "Mother—I mean Mrs. Bowers—told me so, and I never guessed at anything else. If they had only told me, I don't think I should have minded so much. I wonder if Aunt Hannah thought of it?" she continued, musingly. "I wonder if she thought it probable, and that what made her choose those texts to write in my Bible?" "What texts?" asked Mrs. Worthington. "Aunt Hannah gave me a Bible when she went away to the West, and she wrote some texts in it. She made me promise never to forget them. The Bible is there on the table, I believe." Mrs. Worthington took up the book and read the passages which Miss Weightman had written on the blank leaves. "These are precious words," said she. "I hope they have comforted you?" "I am afraid they haven't," answered Rhoda, frankly. "Somehow, I haven't been able to think of anything comforting, only of how I have been treated." "Ah, my poor child, that is an unprofitable subject of thought. Tell me, have you found grace to forgive Mr. and Mrs. Bowers?" "No, I haven't—I can't!" said Rhoda, in great agitation. "It is not in human nature to forgive such an injury."